


Fire, one desire

by adropofred



Series: The Letterbox [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Bittersweet, Cis Character, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Sex, Emotionally Repressed, Kissing, M/M, Nervousness, Neurodiversity, Penis In Vagina Sex, Talking During Sex, Trans Character, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-06 00:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adropofred/pseuds/adropofred
Summary: The very nature of Hermann's love for Newton is that it is has no conditions and no boundaries. It's a part of him, even more so than the steel pins drilled into his bones, like Newton has integrated the marrow of his body, the core of his being. These days existence is too conditional, full of too many unknown variables, rickety like an old chair made of wood always ready to splinter the skin.At least, that's why Hermann has trouble fucking Newt.





	Fire, one desire

**Author's Note:**

> Hermann has too many feelings for his skinny body and I have too many feelings about both these feelings and that skinny body.
> 
> Title from the fundamental musical classic _I Want It That Way_ by the Backstreet Boys.

Hermann has gone stiff behind him, his right hand trembling and the left one outright shaking where they sit on Newt’s hips. He sweeps one clammy palm down his thigh, digs his nails in a little on the way up and registers Newt’s answering shiver both too closely and too distantly.

Sometimes Hermann feels like he's always looking at the world through a telescope: seeing things in detail only from far away. Too close, so close, he can't focus—the way Newton moans a little and tilts his hips back, the minute rolling of his shoulder as he wanks himself, the muscles shifting under his skin making the kaiju inked within it swim lazily, his fingertips brushing the latex-covered head of Hermann’s prick—it's all very much _too much_.

Hermann swallows one, two, three times, lets his leg jerk without trying to repress the spasm, and rests his forehead against Newt’s sweat-damp back.

“Newton,” he murmurs when Newt grabs him with more purpose, skilled fingers guiding Hermann’s cock to his cunt, “Newt.”

“Mm?” Newt sounds wrecked already, or at least wracked with anticipation. Hermann raises his hand to rub Newt’s tense belly, his soft chest, trailing his fingers from the wet tangle of his pubic hair to the sparse hairs on his stomach and the dark down on the barely-there swell of his breasts.

He curses under his breath as Hermann idly thumbs at one nipple, pressing a kiss between Newt’s shoulder blades. His grip on Hermann’s cock tightens before Hermann snaps his hips back. Newton whines.

“You okay, Hermoso?” he asks in an interesting mix of shrill and breathy, twisting his neck to look at Hermann over his shoulder. A hand follows, fingers smelling like the dampness of sex, something intimate and animal, brushing over Hermann’s jaw before dropping back down on the mattress.

There’s something unfocused in Newt’s limbs when they shag, a sort of fever that makes any motion not related directly to pleasure slow and sluggish.

Newt doesn't know how to focus his energy, and when he does it's like parts of him shut down because of the power surge. The current between them gives Newt something to feed the excess, Hermann knows. Just as much as he knows that the instability of it, that connection Hermann doesn't like to talk about _because_ of its instability, makes them ready to short-circuit any time. They have. They will again. They're shoddily assembled machines with thrice-switched parts salvaged or kept running beyond good sense.

No wonder sparks fly.

Hermann licks his lips, straightens his back and stretches his neck to reach Newt’s mouth with his and kiss him, slow and soft. His cock twitches at the feeling of Newt’s parted lips under his, hot and slick with saliva, eager and familiar. Newt whines, pushing Hermann’s hands off his body before pulling away for a second to roll over and face him. Hermann kisses him again. And again.

“Was it your leg?” Newt asks against his mouth, one hand cupping his jaw and the other rubbing at the soft dip between the hardness of Hermann’s ribcage and hips.

Hermann shakes his head, the tip of his nose rubbing against Newt’s. “No,” he murmurs, “I felt… Overwhelmed. I wanted to see your face.”

“Aw, this ugly thing?” Newt grins, dopey and a little cross-eyed and gorgeous. Hermann nods into another kiss, one arm stuck awkwardly between their bodies. “Fuck,” Newt mutters when Hermann twists his wrist and pinches Newt’s clit between two knuckles, “Fuckity fuck, don’t…”

He’s laughing, eyebrows drawn tightly together but laughing—the two lines of his frown, emphasised in their symmetry by the dent of a wrinkle above his nose, are not a problem to solve but rather a necessity. They need to be there to mirror the two lines of his smile, cut in the middle by his teeth as Newt tries to reel in his grinwith a bite but only makes it all the more evident.

Hermann loves him so much it hurts, sometimes. It feels like a sharp point in his chest, something tethered but teetering, unbelievable in its immensity. He likes the tattoos on Newton’s body in part because it’s fitting to have all the too-big things in his life assembled together. Newt has had hisexistence dedicated to explaining all the evidence he found of impossible things to people content with limited but charted knowledge. Newt has been spending his life answering questions no one else thought to even ask on subjects that make complete sense to him. Hermann might do the same, but where Newt dives into the minuscule to build up to titans, he starts on the larger scope to work down to details.

As of 2021, there is still no chart that will fit all of Newton Geiszler.

It kills Hermann, that arrowhead in his heart, when he can't understand Newt or the world they live in. It feels heavy with nearly eight years of history, half of it wonderful and the other miserable; all of it born from and growing at war. It tugs at his lungs and sends bolts of agony that sometimes flow past his belly to his bollocks to ache in the sweetest way,but sometimes sit in his stomach and waste there until Hermann feels sour and rotten from it.

The sea ripped apart like a curtain at the opera to reveal monsters from another dimension, and before the seafoam even settled it revealed Newt to Hermann.

“ _Hermann_ ,” he whines, the lines of his smile and his frown both smoothed away by arousal, “Herm, are you good like that?”

Newt hooks an ankle lightly over Hermann’s calf. “Yes.”

“Cool.”

Hermann’s mouth falls open when Newt grabs his cock again, critically palming at the tacky condom. He distracts him with a kiss, rocking his hips into Hermann’s hand to rub his erection between Hermann’s fingers. Newt is wet, his clit sliding easily against Hermann’s knuckles, then his latex-covered cockhead.

Hermann goes tense again, one startled breath coming out in a huff against Newt's mouth. Newt makes a questioning sound.

“ _Overwhelmed_ ,” Hermann repeats. His cheeks feel hot.

Newt hums before backing away a little, putting a few inches between them, between the hard, slick, _ready_ warmth of him and Hermann’s capricious prick.

“We’ve done it before.”

Despite the situation, Hermann has to close his eyes and count quietly in his head, Fibonacci numbers to 6765. The arousal in his belly is curdling, his cock twitching with nerves and anxiousness.

“I know.” Hermann can’t tell him that’s exactly the reason why.

You can't tell a man you’re too nervous to fuck him because you already did it once four years ago and it cocked everything up. Hermann knows it’s not the fucking itself, the slick slide of his prick inside Newt—since then, since they fell back into each other as horribly easily as they first did, Hermann has had his fingers inside him, his tongue, his moans. He knows it has nothing to do with it and everything to do with it, with how differently their past four years have gone compared to the first four. It pleases him in some way, the symmetry of it. That’s about the only joy Hermann can find in it, other than Newton himself.

Newton is watching him, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed, his freckles disappearing in the blush. It makes Hermann’s skin crawl, sometimes, the way Newt watches him. It feels heavy, suffocating and comforting as a woolen blanket. He could drown in it, he thinks.

“We don’t have to—”

“I _know_ ,” Hermann repeats, frustrated at himself, at Newt’s soft, gentle tone, “I know that, Newton, I _want to._ ”

Newt blinks at him. “Okay. Can you maybe telegraph me what’s going on, my mind reading machine is out of charge?” Hermann drops his forehead on Newton’s shoulder, swallows thickly. “Do you need more time?”

“ _No_ ,” Hermann bites out, and opens his mouth soundlessly two more times before adding, “Yes.”

“Okay.”

Newt runs a hand over his back, down the crooked, tense line of his spine, then back up to stroke lightly from shoulder to shoulder. He's shivering, the sheen of aroused sweat on him gone cool. Hermann touches him back the same, lifts his forehead to look over Newton’s shoulder and down his arched back, to see his long, knobby fingers running over all of that freckled skin. There's little beauty marks, small starburst-looking acne scars, the pink hint of a blemish or a hickey or a bruise, Hermann can’t tell. He sets his mouth firmly against Newton’s shoulder and presses a kiss there.

Blunt nails scratch through the prickly skin of his neck. “It’s overwhelming,” he repeats.

“What’s overwhelming?” Newt asks quietly, scratching lightly at the dip below Hermann’s skull.

Hermann closes his eyes in relief.

“Being inside you.” Newt doesn't even pause, doesn't even shift.

“You’ve had _me_ inside you, though,” Newton says, fingers following the shape of Hermann’s ear, “I fucked you with like three of my cocks.”

“But you’re always inside me,” Hermann blurts out in frustration, “In my head, under my skin. Having you in me, it makes _sense_.”

Newt’s fingers stop. This is why Hermann doesn't like to talk about it, this is why they don't talk about it. Maybe it would be easier if Hermann could tell him he loves him, but as things are, he can’t. He doesn't always understand Newton, but he trusts the man to understand _him_.

“Well yeah,” Newt says at last, “I’m way too much for just myself, gotta pack the extra in somewhere.”

Hermann gasps quietly when Newton punctuates the statement with a grope at his arse, then groans when the light push grinds his cock against Newt’s hip. “The condom.”

“Does it feel weird? I never think about that shit.” Newt pulls off the half-dried condom off Hermann’s cock with a few swift strokes. He tilts away to throw it off to the floor, to Hermann’s distaste, and spits in his hand before grabbing Hermann again. “How’s that?”

“ _Ah_ ,” Hermann says, refusing to answer any of Newton’s questions. His hips twinge when he arches into the touch. Newt notices, pushes him on his back, strokes the side Hermann was laying on lightly, and strokes his prick harder. “Good.”

“Just good?” Newton is grinning at him, leaning over Hermann to touch him, his hip, his thigh, his bollocks, his prick. Hermann moans when Newt rubs his thumb over the fattening head. “Yeah, there you go, that's not overwhelming, is it?” Hermann shakes his head. “Underwhelming? Just whelming?”

“Is that a real verb?” Hermann asks.

Newt laughs. “Yeah, and I’m giving you a real handjob, dude, if you can pay attention.”

“What does it mean?”

“Submerged. Covered. Like in water.”

Hermann looks at Newt, hovering above him with his hand steadily pumping his cock. “Yes.”

“Just whelmed?” Hermann nods. “Cool. Still feel like sticking it in me?”

This time he laughs, his chest trembling with it, huffing a little disbelievingly at Newt’s bright, hopeful grin. “Goodness, do you really have to say it this way?”

Hermann knows Newt has to, for his sake, for Hermann’s, for theirs. _We’ll just not make it weird_ , Newt had said, about three months ago and three octaves higher than usual, when he’d helped Hermann pull off his too-tight jeans, _Or make it so weird we can’t even pretend it’s not weird, but I mean, it’s you, it’s me, anything’s gonna be weird_.

Newt has been right so far.

“Listen, me and my vagina just wanna know what’s the plan here, if we can sit on this—” he squeezes at Hermann a little more firmly, twisting his wrist slowly on the upstroke, “Or not.”

Hermann gets cut off at the end of a laugh, his mouth falling open silently. “Get a condom.” He murmurs.

He likes watching Newton roll the latex down, his movements precise and quick, the same way he mindlessly pulls gloves on in the lab. Something is arousing about it, the ease with which Newt moves, the mundanity of the act. It’s something a little obscene, the idea that Newton puts condoms on people or toys as often as he puts on gloves in the lab.

“Want me to suck you?” Newt asks, on his knees on the mattress, and Hermann pushes himself up with an arm to reach Newt and kiss him.

“Come here,” he says, guiding Newton to straddle his lap, slowly leaning back against the pillows, “Just don’t actually sit—”

“Yeah, sit on the cock, not in the lap,” Newt interrupts, “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

For some reason, the most glaring differences in their bodies between 2017 and 2021 help. Then, Hermann’s body worked differently, maybe better, maybe not, but _differently_. Newton's body wasn't the same, not as heavily inked, old faded tattoos still visible under outlined pieces that were still in progress. They're finished now, and new ones have taken over inches and inches of freckled and scarred skin. Hermann runs a hand over the angry eyes on Newton’s chest, then a perked nipple, looks up at him when he hears a small moan.

He catches the next one with his mouth when he pinches Newt’s nipple, and Newt’s tongue on the seam of his lips distracts him from the warmth of his erection pressing against Hermann’s. Hermann scratches along his ribs to feel him shiver, the skin of his back sweetly goosebumped under the palm of his hand when he runs it down to Newton’s arse to encourage him to rock his hips.

“Yeah?” Newt groans, his hands making fists in the bedsheets on either side of Hermann’s body.

Hermann nods, straining his neck to kiss him again. “ _Please_.” With his other hand, he grabs his prick to hold it in place, feels it pulse in his grip. Newton moves obediently under his palm, twists his hips cleverly and whines and swears when Hermann’s latex-covered glans brushes against his swollen, slick labia. He’s lovely, wet and open, that little furrow between his eyebrows present again as he lowers himself on Hermann’s cock.

It actually registers first, the fact that Newton has his prick in him; then he squeezes around Hermann and the coin flips. He's inside Newt, he realises, the fingers of his left hand digging into his arse, his right thumb rubbing absent-minded circles over Newt’s erect clit, Hermann’s cock snug in his cunt.

“ _Oh_ ,” Hermann breathes out, and it feels like the last of the air he had in his lungs. The next breath he takes is all Newton, ammonia and regulation soap and spicy-chemical deodorant and sweat, the primal scents of sex and arousal. “You feel, _fuck_ , Newt—”

Newton cuts him off with a lingering kiss before sitting up straighter, his thighs opening wider and his knees digging into the mattress. “Oooh shit,” he laughs, shifts, groans. “Herm, Hermann, you gotta tell me if that's good—”

“It is, you idiot, if you could _move_ —”

“I’m gonna,” Newt begins, pumping his hips up and down, “I swear, I’m gonna, _ah_ , I’m gonna walk off and go jerk myself off and, and, _uh-huh_ , right there, oh, I’m gonna go jerk off and leave you all, all,” he seems to give up at some point, when Hermann finds a way to put his fingers that gives Newt’s clit something to rub against on the downstroke, “ _Hermann_.”

It’s a plaintive, frustrated whimper that Hermann is too familiar with, and his lips curl up before he can stop them, one sigh turning into a laugh before Newt speeds up a little. He curls a little in on himself, grinding on Hermann but shying away from his hand. His clitoris swells when Hermann traps it between his thumb and two fingers and strokes firmly, moaning low in his throat when Newt tightens around him. When he rocks up into the touch this time, Hermann slips out of him, and there's a few fussy seconds of swearing and grabbing—Newt’s shaky fingers guiding him back inside, the intimate brush of his knuckles against Hermann’s, a little hitch in Newton’s breathing when Hermann hesitantly pushes his hips up to fuck into him. The resulting pain resonates down to his knees and echoes out of Hermann’s throat in a whimper that Newt swallows in a kiss, planting his knees more firmly on either side of Hermann’s narrows hips.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Newt mutters on his lips, his toes brushing Hermann’s thighs, “Just lemme take it, mm? Don’t move, here…” He takes Hermann’s wrists to push his hands on his arse, his back.

Hermann steals a hand back to cup Newton’s jaw and thumb his lips open to kiss him, slow and distracted. He gets a little sigh of a laugh for his troubles, Newt’s rhythm faltering before he picks it up again, grinding nice and low on Hermann’s cock, then flexing the muscles in his thighs to lift himself up until there's only the tip of it in him.

There's not enough air for words. All he breathes in is Newt, and Hermann can barely breathe out as it is. He’s panting with it, dumbly grabbing at the crease where Newton’s arse meets his thigh to feel the sweat gathered in the sparse hair growing there, then at the dip at his side where his rib cage gives way to softness. Newton squirms a little under his touch, straightening up and arching his back, stilling for a second before grinding down again.

“Ah,” Newton says, eyelashes fluttering prettily, freckles hidden by the redness in his skin, “ _Ha_ , fuck, that’s—”

He loses words then, his speech turning to noises rising in pitch in tune with his hips. “Are you going to come?” Hermann asks him. Newt nods, quick, fucking himself with purpose. He bats Hermann’s hand away from his clitoris but brings it to his chest instead, giving himself something to lean against, and giving Hermann’s fingers the hardness of his nipples to tease. “Goodness, Newton, you're so…”

Newt laughs, red, wild, moaning, beautiful. “So, _so_ fucking _close_.”

Hermann feels _I love you_ rise at the back of his tongue, takes a sharp intake of breath to say the words and instead clumsily rolls his back to rock inside Newt.

“Look at you,” Hermann says without really meaning to when Newt moans and lets himself fall against his chest, muffling little noises against Hermann’s shoulder, grinding slowly on his prick now, “Newton, darling, Newt…”

His words get cut off again, by Newt’s lips against his this time, and his hips rising and falling again. He keeps letting out little moans of over-sensitivity, delighted sounds that make Hermann blush and rush down to pulse urgently in his bollocks.

“Come with me this time?” Newt mumbles against Hermann’s neck, his jaw. His breath against his ear makes Hermann shiver, little jolts of electricity in his spine that he can either lean into or guard himself against. “C’mon,” Newt continues when Hermann paws at his hips, his arse, his shoulders, “Hermann, Hermoso, Herm, I wanna feel you come inside me—”

Hermann gives in and digs his nails into Newt’s right hip and the back of his neck and comes.

He’s aware Newt swears and speaks, pleased nonsense as he rambles through another orgasm, and that energy, that man—sometimes, Hermann could cry.

Instead he kisses Newt’s trembling mouth, gives into the usual ritual of keeping each other silent until the stupidity of orgasm has worn off. Newton is watching him under heavy eyelids, his eyes dark in the low light. He’s still twitching a little, squeezing around Hermann teasingly in a way not meant to arouse but to remind him, himself, themselves, _We did that_ , like an odd private joke.

“Quit it,” Hermann tells him with a frown, and Newt snorts.

Lifting his hips, he sits back on his haunches to peel the condom off Hermann’s prick and wrap it in a tissue he tosses to the floor. Hermann’s frown deepens. Newton only laughs at the low sound of disapproval he makes.

“Careful, you’ll get stuck like that forever.” Newton says when he lies back down next to Hermann, falling too heavily on the thin mattress, sweaty and sticky, rough-skinned fingers sliding around Hermann’s ribs, his breasts, his sternum.

The touch soothes something in Hermann’s chest. He closes his eyes and focuses on counting the beats of his slowing heart, on feeling Newton’s idle fingers, on the smell of him.

“That might be alright,” he says, and Newton’s fingers brush against his cheekbones before his lips find Hermann’s again.

**Author's Note:**

> Occasionally funny on Twitter @[callmealois](https://twitter.com/callmealois).


End file.
